


From the Smoke, An Omen

by augopher



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Angst, Canonical Character Death, Getting Together, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, PTSD Derek, Soundtrack Linked, Urban Legends, depression and anxiety, horror/thriller
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-19
Updated: 2014-12-26
Packaged: 2018-03-02 03:41:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2798237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/augopher/pseuds/augopher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They say the smoke from candles on a 25th birthday cake can predict death. They say anyone who sees their name in the smoke will lose someone important. That's what they say. But that's an urban legend, and those things are never true.</p>
<p>They say.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. It All Started With a Cupcake

**Author's Note:**

> Fic will be soundtrack linked on 8tracks. More songs added as story progresses (AKA, as I write it and figure out songs)
> 
> [From the Smoke, An Omen](http://8tracks.com/augopher/from-the-smoke-an-omen?utm_medium=trax_embed) from [augopher](http://8tracks.com/augopher?utm_medium=trax_embed) on [8tracks Radio](http://8tracks.com?utm_medium=trax_embed).
> 
> Rating may increase as story progresses  
> \-------  
> Track listing for first chapter:
> 
> "In the Woods Somewhere"- Hozier

Deep in the Beacon Hills Preserve, a group of teenage girls sat around a campfire, roasting marshmallows above the flames. The chilly night air bit at their faces. “It’s my turn.” One of them said. “Did you hear the one about the birthday cake that predicts your death?”

“No.” A few of the other five girls said in unison.

“It all begins with Bethany O’Donnell’s twenty-fifth birthday.”

The dark haired girl laughed. “Who is Bethany O’Donnell?” She shifted on the log on which she’d been sitting. Somewhere, off in the distance, an owl hooted. Its call the only other sound besides the crackling of the fire and a light breeze which knocked leaves from their trees. The perfect night for a campfire...and ghost stories.

“You mean, who _was_ Bethany O’Donnell? About ten years ago, her friends threw her a surprise party. It was, like, the place to be that night. Her best friend, Amanda invited this man Bethany had a crush on from the grocery store. Despite what her friends said, how he was a little off, a little bit of a loner, something about him seemed shady, she still chatted with him every time she went shopping. Bethany said he was the most handsome man she’d ever seen.”

“Turns out he was totally a creeper and kills her at the party, right?”

“Shut up, Laura. You are such a killjoy. You know that right?”

“Fine, Megan. Finish your stupid story.”

“His name was Andy, and he showed up a little late to the party. Cake had already been served, but he brought her a lemon cupcake from the bakery in his store.”

“I heard it was a chocolate cupcake.”

“Doesn’t matter, Dani. The point is brought her a cupcake.”

Laura rolled her eyes again. “Fucking, urban legends.”

Megan stuck her tongue out at Laura. “He asked if they could go upstairs so they could celebrate her birthday. He lit the candle, setting it down on her dresser in front of the mirror, and sang the song. When she blew out the candle, he kissed her.”

Laura huffed in indignation, but no one paid her any attention.

“Things started to get hot and heavy if you know what I mean, and the thing is, Bethany was a nice girl. You know, a _nice_ girl. She didn’t do that sort of thing on a first date. When she told him to stop, he didn’t. She fought back, and he killed her with a piece of her own mirror. Her mother was so distraught she killed herself, but not before she vowed revenge. You see, Bethany was her world. Now, whenever you go to a twenty-fifth birthday party, if they place the cake in front of a mirror, beware. A name of a party guest will rise from the smoke. In the mirror’s reflection, the guest will see a face of one of the two most important people in that person’s life. No one knows when exactly, but some time soon, that person will die.”

Laura scoffed. “That is the stupidest story I’ve ever heard.”

“No,” Megan swore, “it’s totally true. My cousin’s lab partner said her sister went to a party like that. The guy saw his mother’s face and she died of a heart attack the next day.”

“And Lillian, my brother’s babysitter, well her best-friend’s boyfriend’s uncle saw his daughter’s name in the smoke. She died in a rock climbing accident two days later.” Another girl said.

“That’s not all.” Megan said. “Remember Ashley, from econ? Well her neighbor knew a guy at the gym who went to a party. Someone there had a child who choked on a piece of candy the very same day. It’s totally true.”

“Uh huh. And my uncle’s brother’s, mother’s sister’s hairstylist used to surf with a guy from Maui who went to one of those parties, saw his sister’s name and she died walking home from an anvil falling on her head! Someone oughtta sue Acme.”

“You just don’t believe. See if I go to _your_ twenty-fifth birthday party.”

“Well, see if I even _have_ a twenty-fifth birthday party. This is lame. I’m going home.” Laura stood. “Oh yeah, my mom says you have to have the fire out by midnight.” She walked away and back to the Hale house.


	2. Should Have Left the Moment She Arrived

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Track listing for chapter:
> 
> Scene 1: "Before it Breaks"- Brandi Carlile  
> Scene 2: "White Teeth Teens"- Lorde  
> Scene 3: "Drivin to Kalifornia" -Redlight King

**Eight Years Later**

 

Derek sat, or lounged more accurately, on the sofa, his nose buried in his Near Eastern Mythology textbook. Briefly distracted from his homework, he looked up to see his sister flitting around the room still trying to get ready, which he thought she had been for the past hour. He shook his head and went back to work.

"Are you sure you don't want to come?" She asked moving his book aside and flopping onto him.

Derek groaned. "Yes. Why would I want to go to a birthday party of someone I've never met? Better yet, why would I want to go to a party of someone I've never met and whom _you_ barely know?"

"You can be my date."

He rolled his eyes. "Because nothing says I have no life than being my older sister's date to a party. No thanks I'll pass. I have to start working on a paper due Tuesday anyway."

She ruffled his hair. "Suit yourself baby brother. I'll make sure to text you constantly about all the fun I'm having."

"You do that." He waved at her as she walked out the door.

* * * * *

 

Laura took in the room as she walked into the party. Derek had been right. Why was she here? She only knew Miranda, and she met her in her spin class, had hung out with her like twice outside class. Whatever, she was an adult, she could socialize (Unlike Derek). 

What was she going to do with her brother? For reasons completely unknown, he'd completely sworn off dating or normal teenager things like friends after the fire, a habit that continued now into his junior year of college. She supposed grief affected people in different ways. It wasn't like she had a lot of room to talk though, she couldn't actually name one person she'd consider a close friend besides her brother. But seriously though, it had been five years since they lost everyone. It wasn't healthy to forgo all other relationships besides theirs the way he did. Then again, he'd always been a lot more clingy when it came to family than she was. She loved her family, missed them to pieces, of course she did, but Derek? He needed them, and since they'd been gone, he just seemed incomplete.

"Laura! I'm so glad you could make it!" Miranda's thick Bronx accent carried over the din of the room, and true to form, the woman wrapped Laura in an enthusiastic embrace.

Laura felt like such a jerk with her half-assed reciprocation. "Wouldn't miss it." After twenty minutes, she already wanted to leave. A night at home with her brother playing an hour or two of _Left 4 Dead_ with him sounded like a lot more fun. _I'll just stay for cake and then make a quiet exit._

She walked around, mingling, trying to make pleasantries, but quickly found the type of people Miranda hung out with were ones with whom Laura had nothing in common. Nice enough, as people went. Just not for her. 

To be honest, neither was the party. It was just too big. Laura had always preferred a more intimate setting when it came to get togethers. Put too many together in a room, and it became impossible to hear conversations.

Listless, she drifted about the place, partaking in a couple beers. The food was damn good though. No complaints there.

About an hour after she arrived, someone brought in a cake and sat it down on the counter. One by one, the candles began to glow, their reflection glinting off the mirror behind them. If she'd been more interested in the party, or less skeptical in her youth, Laura would have counted the candles.

The room filled with the sounds of singing.

She only spared a chance glance at the cake, and the way the smoke curled up from the blown out candles. It was a mesmorizing dance of sorts. Then, her eyes caught the reflection in the mirror. 

At first she thought she was imagining it, and hell, she probably did. There, staring back at her was her name, in a scrawled hand, and she recalled a story she'd been told around a campfire almost a decade ago.

_That was just an urban legend. They're never true._

Still, the story nagged at her brain. _"One of the two most important people in that person’s life..." "Will die."_ Even if the story was just that, a legend, she knew there were only two people important in her life, herself and Derek. On the chance the story was true, she prayed with everything she had not to see her brother's face.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, opening them only when she heard the collective gasp of the people in the room. Everyone stared at her, and she stared at a smoky depiction of her own face. 

"Why are you all staring at me?"

"We saw your name in the smoke, and then your face." Miranda cried. "I'm so sorry."

Laura put on her skeptic glasses and laughed. "You know that's just an urban legend, right?"

Miranda shook her head.

"If you tell me your neighbor's dentist had a friend with a regular call girl who saw her name..."

"Laura, we all saw it."

She nodded, walking to the hooks on the wall to grab her purse. "You all are seriously gullible."

 

* * * * *

 

That night, unable to sleep, she went and sat on the fire escape, staring out at Manhatten. It had to be an elaborate joke. It had to be.  
Eventually, night bled into day, and Derek found her asleep on the couch. "Rough night?"

"What? No, not really. The party was lame as hell."  
Derek shoved a plate of pancakes in her face. "Good, because your phone has been going crazy this morning. Woke me up at six. Could have done without that."

She glanced at her phone. Eighteen missed calls from A. Deaton. With tentative fingers, she tapped on her voicemail.

_"Hi Laura, this is Alan Deaton. I looked into that picture you sent me, and you have a legitimate lead._

_I also have someone you should talk to, but he won't talk by phone. How soon can you get to Beacon Hills?"_

She hung up only to find Derek looking at her, scrutinizing the expression on her face. "Yes?"

"Something important?" He asked between bites.

"I think I need to go to California for a few days. Alan, do you remember him, Mom's friend?"

"Vaguely."

"He says there is someone in Beacon Hills who I should talk to." She tapped the phone on her chin. "I mean I don't have to go right now." The scene from last night kept playing in her head. "I mean you have finals coming up. If you need me to stay-"

"If you think it's important, you should go."

She nodded, hiding the fear in her chest. _It has to be a legend. No way that story can be true._

 

* * * * *

  
Two days later she sat on a plane to California.

 

  
She never came home.


	3. How Am I Supposed to Walk This Road Alone?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Track listing for the chapter:  
> Scene 1:  
>  "Landslide"- Fleetwood Mac  
> Scene 2:  
>  "Drown"- Bring Me the Horizon  
> Scene 3:  
>  "Push the Sky Away"- Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds
> 
> Trigger warning: brief mentions of suicide and PTSD in scene 3

Derek sat on the floor and stared out at the empty apartment he'd shared with his sister, knees pulled to his chest as he looked out at the tattered remains of what was left of his dangerously co-dependent life he'd built around Laura. He had nothing anymore. No one, no family, no friends, no one. The feeling of being absolutely alone in the world crippled him, and honestly, he had no idea how to go on.

His stomach growled; he'd never been much of a cook. Laura always made them dinner. Wilting flowers in vases on the kitchen table looked as though they'd been crying, shedding their petals like tears down to the ground. The little memorial service he'd allowed Laura's coworkers to throw had been three days ago. Allowed? Didn't that just make him sound like an uncaring asshole? The truth was, he had no idea who to invite or how to do any of it, and if someone had asked him, he couldn't be sure if he'd moved from where he sat since then.

His body ached everywhere, but he couldn't be bothered to care.

It was like he was glued in place, and if he somehow moved from that spot, then everything would be real. The pain and the loss would be permanent. Yet, if he stayed put, any moment she'd walk through the door and yell at him to stop feeling sorry for himself.

Though everywhere in his body hurt, his mind was numb and had pretty had been since he'd received that phone call a week ago...

... _The buzzing of his phone on the nightstand beside his bed startled Derek awake. In the dark, he fumbled to turn it off just so he could get back to sleep. He'd been up late, well late for him, until eleven working on a paper and studying for the exams he had in two weeks. When it kept ringing, however, he finally gave in._

_"He..hello?" His voice cracked, thick with sleep._

_"May I speak to Derek Hale." The voice on the other end was at once, both foreign to him, but also vaguely familiar._

_Derek yawned and sat up, turning on the lamp on his bedside table. "Speaking."_

_"This is Sheriff Stilinski with the Beacon Hills Police Department. You are listed as the emergency contact on this phone. Phone company records show it belongs to Laura Hale."_

_Derek tried to swallow; his mouth was filled with cotton, and when he finally managed, his saliva sank like a stone in his stomach. "Why do you have my sister's phone?"_

_"Well son, I'm afraid I have some bad news."_...

...In his grief, Derek had been neglecting his medications, and the nightmares and anxiety, the negativity, that had plagued him since the fire six years ago came back in full force. So haunted by the smell of smoke, and throat raw from screaming the himself awake yet again, this time with no one to talk him through it, he hardly slept a wink.

  
* * * * *

Derek walked into the station at the Sheriff's Department in Beacon Hills. As he waited at the front desk for someone, he drummed his fingers nervously on the counter. Since he'd arrived in town, he'd thrown up twice. The weight of what he was here to do was just too much for him.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the kid with the buzzcut pretending to do homework as he tapped the yellow highlighter against his mouth. If he had to guess, Derek would have guessed him to be sixteen maybe seventeen tops. Derek also noticed the way the guy's eyes kept darting over to look at him. _Please don't talk to me. Please don't talk to me_ , Derek prayed silently.

"So, is there something I can help you with?" The kid asked.

"Um...probably not. I need to speak to an officer, and no offense, but you are not one."

The kid's mouth hung open for a second. "I could be."

"Look, honestly, I'm really not in the mood for games. Really."

He nodded. "I see. Here to file a noise complaint, report your XBOX stolen? Yeah, I'd be impatient too."

Derek leaned against the counter and buried his head in his arms. He couldn't do this. It wasn't real. Any moment, he would wake up screaming in his bed and Laura would rush in to comfort him. Any moment. Any moment. Any moment.

"Or maybe your car was stolen. Well I am on a first name basis with all the cops here, perk of being the sheriff's kid and all. I'll go get someone."

"Thanks." He grumbled into his arms.

A few moments later, he heard someone clear their throat. "How can I help you?"

"He needs to report a theft." 

Derek picked up his head. "No, I dont. I'm Derek Hale, and I'm here to identify my sister's body." He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. "Sorry it took a couple of weeks. I had finals to rearrange... and I don't like flying. It's a long drive from Manhattan."

As the deputy led him to the morgue, he saw the kid face palming, presumably from embarrassment. In no time, he found himself staring into the impersonal room. A few bodies covered in sheets lay on the other side of the glass. He wondered, which one of those was Laura, and would she look peaceful or afraid? He'd received few details about her death, and he hoped whatever happened to her, she didn't see coming. Derek didn't think he'd get over seeing terror on her lifeless face, knowing she spent her last moments in fear.

"Mr. Hale?"

Derek looked up to see a face he hadn't seen in years. "I remember you, Sir. You're the one who pulled Laura and me out of class that day. You're Sheriff now."

Sheriff Stilinski nodded. "I am, and I see you met my son. I hope he didn't bother you too much. He's too curious for his own good, or the good of anyone else for that matter."

"It's fine."

"Before I get the medical examiner to move the sheet, does...did your sister have any identifying marks? A scar or tattoo, anything?"

Derek sighed, swaying on his feet a little. "She has a tattoo on the inside of her right ankle. It's a triskele, kind of looks like three spirals connected."

He watched as the Sheriff pressed a button on the wall and called for the medical examiner. Derek held his breath as the sheet moved off her feet, stopping at her knees. He didn't even need a closer look. The black ink of Laura's triskele tattoo stared back at him. "It's...it's Laura." He sniffled. "Can I, can I see her face?" The look on Sheriff Stilinski's face told him no. "Why not?"

"Because, well there is no easy way to say this, Son, but we only found half of her."

Derek felt the bile rise in his throat, and he barely made it to the trash can before emptying his stomach again. "What?" He half shouted. "Where is the rest of her?" He leaned against the wall and sank to the floor. "Who would do something like that?" Tears rushed down his face. "Cut her in half! Leave her like an animal?" He pawed at his chest. "I can't... I can't breathe."

Sheriff Stilinski crouched down in front of Derek to assess him before calling for paramedics. He knew the signs of psychologic shock, but his best efforts to help the young man take a sufficient breath were not enough. As EMT's took Derek's blood pressure and administered oxygen and a blanket, the sheriff's son burst in.

"What's going on? I saw...what happened to him?"

Sheriff Stilinski turned his son around and ushered him out of the room. "Don't you have homework to do, Stiles?"

When Derek had finally calmed down enough to stabilize, the sheriff tried talking to him again. "Do you have someone I can call to come get you, stay with you?" 

Derek shook his head. "I have no one. I only had Laura, but you know that."

"Friends?"

"I'm not good at making friends anymore. I don't... I don't have any."

He felt his heart constrict at the sight of the young man. Hell, Derek was only four years older than his son, and he could not fathom Stiles being completely alone in the word at the young age of twenty-one. "Where are you staying?"

"I don't know. I came straight here." Derek buried his head in his knees.

They sat quietly for a moment or two. "Well, and you don't have to, but I have a guest room. My son, Stiles, isn't as annoying as first impressions usually suggest. You're welcome to stay with us until you figure out what to do, especially with Christmas com-"

"No offense, Sheriff, but I don't really feel like celebrating."

"No, I imagine you don't, but I also don't think you should be alone right now."

"You're probably right." He mumbled into his knees.

The sheriff patted Derek's calf. "My shift has been over for half an hour. Come on. I'll have a deputy follow us with your car. Which one is it?"

"Black Camaro, New York Plates."

 

* * * * *

 

Derek sat down on the bed in the guest room of the Stilinski residence. His brain felt like it had left his body, and that was probably a good thing. Maybe with his mind on vacation, his body would forget to keep breathing while he slept, and the whole nightmare would be over just like that.

Heh, nightmare. At that thought, he dug through his suitcase for his medications, turning both bottles over in his hands. How long had he suffered before Laura dragged him to therapy? Two years? 

If he was going to stay out in Beacon Hills, and he already knew he would because she deserved justice, he would need to get recommendations for either a therapist or a group he could talk to. However, something in him said there was no local support group for those like him.

"You okay?" The kid, Stiles, as Derek now knew him asked from the doorway where Derek had forgotten to close the door. "You're not um...thinking about taking those are you? Like all of them? Cause I'd have to get my dad, you know? Sort of his duty and all, especially if you don't have a prescription for them."

Derek looked up at him, and he wanted to be annoyed at him, but the expression on his face was so earnest, all he could do was sigh. "No, I'm not. I mean not any more than my usual dosage, and yes, they're mine."

Stiles pointed to the bed next to him. "Can I sit down?"

Derek shrugged, but didn't say no either. 

"I just wanted to apologize for being an inconsiderate idiot earlier. I...sometimes my brain to mouth filter is broken. You know? It just goes where it wants, especially when I forget a dose of my Adderall. So I'm sorry."

He swallowed. "It's okay."

"You know, I was there that day. Do you remember? I had to sit in the front seat the whole time when my Dad and the other deputies maintained the perimeter at your house. I was almost eleven. You probably don't remember, and personally I wouldn't. If that had been me, I'd try to block everything out too. Even then, I'm not all that memorable anyway, at least when I'm not talking. Ask anyone."

Derek set the pill bottles on the nightstand and looked over at Stiles, while he tried to puzzle why Stiles would think he wasn't memorable. For one, his ridiculous number of layers, made an impression. Two? Derek imagined it would be hard for anyone who really looked at him to forget eyes like that. He didn't say anything though. Still, he did remember him. "You were reading The Hobbit I think and eating curly fries."

Stiles aforementioned eyes, lit up like the sun. "You do remember me. I always wanted to tell you that I was sorry about your family and that my mom was dead too. I wanted to let you know if you needed to talk to anyone, I understood a little about how you might feel. Then I figured, who would want to talk to a kid about something like that, but I never saw you again." His eyes drifted over to the labels on the table. _Minipress, what is that? Paxil...yeah I know that one._ "But if you do need to talk, I'm across the hall. Night Derek."

Derek stared at Stiles' back as he left the room. When the door closed behind him, he opened up the bottles, taking out a pill from one and two from the other, swallowing them dry. Then he flopped on his back, where he promptly fell asleep.


End file.
